


Shoot Straight Through My Heart

by orphan_account



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Ableism, Ableist Language, Disability, Fluff, M/M, Physical Disability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2014-02-28
Packaged: 2018-01-14 02:40:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1249702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Or: Four times Tony was an asshole about Clint’s disability and once when he actually wasn’t.)</p><p>Prompt: I would love to see a story where Clint is permanently and severely injured before the Avengers were assembled. Something (I don't care what) happens and he's forced to move into the Avengers Tower, where him and Stark butt heads constantly, but eventually form a relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shoot Straight Through My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> For an anonymous prompt on my tumblr (authorkurikuri.tumblr.com). I don't normally write IronHawk, but this intrigued me... Also, if you want to know what Clint’s archery technique looks like, you should go find some video clips of Jeff Fabry, the Paralympic archer, on YouTube. Seriously, he’s awesome. Also, I’m not disabled, so I’m sorry for any inaccuracies.
> 
> Trigger Warnings: disability and ableism - including use of the ableist c-slur (not by Tony)

1\. 

“Really? Whose idea was it to give a one-armed guy a fucking _bow and arrows?_ ” a truly, truly obnoxious voice intoned, making Clint’s skin prickle and his shoulders tense in indignation. “Because last time I checked, you needed two arms to actually make that thing work.”

“Can I shoot him and blame it on Loki?” Clint muttered, looking over at Natasha, but making his voice just loud enough for Stark – because that’s who Ableist Asshole was, Tony Stark – to hear him clearly. “Or better yet, you could work some of your cognitive recalibration magic on him, too.”

“You can shoot him after we defeat the Chitauri,” Natasha replied idly, checking and rechecking her guns before climbing into the cockpit of the quinjet, sliding easily into the copilot seat, Clint following after her. 

“Wait, the disabled guy is flying the plane, too? _This_ is the pilot you found us, Capsicle?” Stark continued, waving a hand at Clint who was ignoring him in favor of going through the standard pre-flight check. “I think I might just fly myself over. I can give you a lift if – ” 

“Fritz Otto Bernert,” Clint said suddenly, still not bothering to even glance at Tony as he set the radios and cabin pressure controller. 

“Gesundheit,” Tony replied with what was probably as much snark as he could muster. 

“World War I fighter pilot and leading German ace,” Clint went on, looking over at Natasha before starting the ignition. “Only had one functional arm. Don’t worry, Sweetheart – you’re in good hands. Well, _hand_.” 

Okay, so maybe he’d put a little too much bite into that last bit there, but goddamn wasn’t it beautiful how quickly it shut Ableist Asshole up. Clint did his best to keep the smirk from creeping over his face as Tony peered through the still open quinjet door, clearly trying to get a better look at him as he tried to decide whether to get into the plane or not. He frowned for another moment and then stepped inside. 

2\. 

Clint drew back his bowstring as quickly as he could, his teeth clenched tightly around the mouth tab attached right above where his arrow was nocked. He then opened his mouth, releasing the arrow but not bothering to watch it hit the animatronic bat thing that had been advancing on him, decimating it effortlessly with a perfectly timed explosion. However, as he turned around, he fumbled with his next arrow, his heart stuttering in his chest as it fell through his fingers and down to the ground some forty stories below him. 

Improvising, he gave up on trying to nock another arrow, instead grabbing his bow from where he’d been holding it between his thighs and swung it at the oncoming robot-bat, smashing it over and over again and hoping with all his might that his bow didn’t break. He registered the second bat just a moment too late. Clint did his best to duck, realizing belatedly that by ducking, he’d stepped a little too close to the edge of the skyscraper’s roof. 

Fuck. 

He fell backwards. For a moment everything felt entirely surreal, his body in freefall weightless and empty. Clint grit his teeth, breaking himself out of that dangerous mindset before biting down on his bowstring again and grasping for another arrow, a grappling hook arrow this time, and loading his bow. He readjusted his grip on his bow so that he was primed to shoot, his eyes desperately searching for a good place to secure his arrow – 

– when something else metal crashed into his side. Clint twisted around in the robot’s grip preparing to club it with his bow again before he realized that said robot was red, gold, and a little more human than he’d initially thought. 

“Katniss, next time you need a hand, remember that you have teammates who have two,” Stark announced obnoxiously, and Clint reconsidered giving him a nice hard whack with his bow. “And you know what they say, two hands are better than – ”

Clint loosed his arrow, letting it land securely on a window ledge and pulling on both him and Stark before the latter had time to stop flying and change his course. As the line swung them abruptly to the left, two robot bats collided in midair, right in the spot where they’d previously been. 

“Well at least _my_ mouth does something useful,” Clint retorted, shooting Stark his best unimpressed look. 

3\. 

It had been nearly a week since the animatronic bat incident and Stark hadn’t said anything offensive to him regarding his lack of an arm. At this point, Clint wasn’t sure whether he should be relieved or unnerved. He decided that the best course of action would be to simply ignore it. 

(Not that he wasn’t at least a little relieved, because he really was. Clint thought he might be able to actually like Tony Stark if it wasn’t for the constant stream of frankly insulting comments about his disability. It was certainly nice to be able to talk to the man without having to spend an extra half hour at the range afterwards in order to release his temper so that he didn’t end up taking it out on the man who he was expected to work with.)

Of course, ignoring it mainly meant ignoring Stark, which was kind of difficult considering how they lived in the same building. Yeah, he can’t quite believe it either. It wasn’t entirely by choice, though, because apparently Avengers cohabitation was now part of his SHIELD contract – in order to enhance “team bonding,” which Clint knew was just an excuse to keep them together for quick assembling at all times of the day (and night). 

So yeah, ignoring Stark was difficult. Which was why six days after he’d saved Tony Stark’s ableist ass from destruction via robot bat, he found himself once again trying to not put an arrow through the man’s skull. 

“Just give it here,” Clint growled, holding out his hand to accept the bottle of salsa that Stark had spent the last ten minutes trying to get open. “I can get it for you.”

“It’s a screw cap,” Stark retorted, not handing over the bottle, instead opting to bang the top of it on the kitchen counter. “Are you planning on biting off the top or something?” 

“Or something,” Clint replied, rolling his eyes. “Just give it to me already.” 

“Fine. Knock yourself out,” the billionaire said, tossing the bottle up into the air instead of handing it over politely, just to be an asshole. 

Clint caught it effortlessly. He then placed it against the edge of the kitchen counter, bracing it there with his stomach and using his free hand to twist off the cap. It took a moment, but soon enough the top released with a soft pop, screwing off easily under Clint’s sure fingers. 

“Here,” he said, handing it back to Stark before he became too tempted to just screw the cap right back on to get back at him. 

“Huh. I hadn’t thought of that,” Stark replied, looking at the bottle of salsa before turning to examine Clint in a way that made goose bumps break out across his skin and not necessarily in a bad way. (Why did Stark have to be so stupidly attractive? Goddamn it.) 

“Clearly,” Clint retorted before going back to rummaging through the cupboard for the poptarts he had been certain were there earlier that morning. 

“I think Thor ate the last of them,” Stark said, as if he had read Clint’s mind. “There are chips and salsa, though.” 

“You’re offering?” Clint asked, trying not to sound as surprised as he was at his teammate’s offer. 

“Tortilla chips are useless without salsa,” Stark replied, as if that answered anything. 

It actually kind of did. 

4\. 

Somehow, Stark and turned into Tony. They’d fallen into some sort of awkward semi-friendship where Tony didn’t insult him based on his disability and Clint didn’t insult him based on completely legitimate reasons. Which pretty much translated to them sitting on opposite ends of the couch in the common rec room and watching Dog Cops together while occasionally asking the other to pass the chips and salsa. 

Of course, then Tony somehow got it into his head that they actually had to _talk_. 

“Does it ever get in the way when you fuck people?” Tony asked, looking at Clint from across the couch. 

“Well, I prefer _getting_ fucked, but no, not usually,” the archer replied, barely hesitating at the odd question while trying not to think about that one time his then-boyfriend had pounced on him and he’d been unable to brace himself, causing him to fall off the bed. “Why, does that thing in your chest affect your dick, too?”

“Chicks dig the arc reactor. Guys, too,” Tony added, and Clint couldn’t tell if that was a come on or just an attempt at relating. 

“Hn,” Clint answered, trying to focus on Dog Cops again instead of how he maybe, sort of thought it was actually a tiny, little bit sexy. 

“I thought the whole one arm thing would make it awkward, though,” Tony went on, as Clint groaned internally wishing that he would just shut up about it already. “Like, do you just have to lie there and take it? And it must really limit the amount of positions you can – ”

Clint crushed his mouth against Tony’s because damn it, he was _not_ going to let Tony fucking Stark belittle his sex prowess if he had anything to say about it. Or, you know, do about it. He bit down on Tony’s lower lip, eliciting a small gasp from the other man and allowing him to properly delve inside Tony’s mouth, roughly controlling the kiss as Tony’s lips met his own enthusiastically. 

He was fully straddling the other man’s lap now, and he could already feel Tony starting to harden under him. Clint threaded his fingers through the other man’s hair, pulling at it a bit in order to maneuver Tony’s head into a better position so that he could work the kiss properly, nipping at Tony’s lips again and grinding his ass down onto the other man’s hard cock, feeling Tony gasp and swear into his mouth. 

Which, of course, was when Clint pulled back and removed himself from Tony’s lap. 

“Oh, yeah, _awkward_ – I see what you mean now,” Clint exclaimed, his tone as sickeningly sincere as he could make it as he looked at Tony with wide, falsely innocent eyes. “It was such an effort to stay upright! We better not take this any further, or I might end up falling over and injuring myself!”

And with that, he turned and left. 

+1. 

Clint was lounging about in the common rec room, sprawled out on the couch with his laptop on his stomach. For once, Tony wasn’t there with him – probably off in his workshop geeking out over some stupid experiment with Bruce. (Which Clint was totally, absolutely not jealous of, goddamn it. Who gave a fuck about Tony Stark, anyway? Certainly not him.) 

He sighed as he checked his newsfeed, snorting at yet another stupid article about Steve eating Thai food or whatever. You’d think people would have gotten over this months ago, and as hard as he tried to block Avengers related news (because he did _not_ have time to deal with that shit) some of it inevitably bypassed his filters. Maybe he could get Tony to fix it for him at some point.

Of course, think of the devil and he will appear. Well, not quite, because Clint was pretty sure that the saying used “speak” instead of “think” and Tony didn’t actually, physically appear, but apparently he was – surprise, surprise – once again a major news headline. 

_Billionaire Superhero Tony Stark Speaks Out For Disabled Rights_

Now that wasn’t something Clint had ever expected to read. Then again, the media blew everything that Tony said way out of proportion. He probably had made some throwaway remark and was now being treated as the new face of the disabled rights campaign. 

Clint clicked on the article anyway. 

It was actually based off of some TV interview and Clint glanced at the body of the news story before deciding to waste his time watching the stupid video. He pressed play, leaned back, and waited for Tony Stark to make an ass out of himself. 

“Now, let’s be honest Tony – I can call you Tony, right? We both know that there’s a question that everyone in America is just dying to know the answer to, but are too scared to ask,” the reporter started, leaning over towards Tony and dropping his voice conspiratorially. “Is it really a good idea to have a cripple on the Avengers team, especially when you have alternatives like Spiderman and the X-Men?” 

Clint bristled in indignation and rage, his hand clenching into a fist so hard that his knuckles turned white and his nails dug into his palm. It shouldn’t get to him anymore – it really shouldn’t. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before from strangers, coworkers, and even people who he’d thought were his friends, but he’d saved the fucking _world_ now. What more did he have to do? 

“Use that word again and I will singlehandedly bankrupt this entire station,” Tony replied, his tone falsely casual, a sharp undercurrent of anger ready to burst forward. 

Well, that was unexpected. Pleasant, but unexpected. 

“What? I just – ” the reporter sputtered, in some ways more surprised that Clint. 

“Hawkeye lost his arm saving a kid from a roadside bomb in Afghanistan,” Tony continued, cutting off the other man, refusing to let him make his half-assed excuses. “One of _my_ company’s bombs. If anyone here doesn’t deserve to be an Avenger, it’s me.”

And wow, Clint wasn’t aware that Tony had known about that. Technically it was classified, but now that he thought about it, it was stupid of him to assume that such a minor inconvenience would stop Tony Stark. And the thought that Tony would blame himself… well, that didn’t make any of his previous ableist statements any less asshole-ish, but it did make Clint like him a little more. 

Now that he thought about it, maybe that was why Tony had offered to let him live in Stark Tower in the first place. Maybe that was why he always tried to buy him things and why he tried to help Clint with things that he really didn’t need help with. He felt like Clint’s disability was his fault. 

Which, of course, was bullshit. He hadn’t make Clint save that kid. That was his own damn choice and all of the outcomes were because of _him_ goddamn it. 

“So no, having him on our team isn’t a good idea – it’s fucking _brilliant_ idea, because I can’t even begin to tell you how many of our battles would have gone completely to shit if he hadn’t been there to save our asses,” Tony went on, his words making Clint’s cheeks heat slightly, because even if he’d done everything he could to overcome his disability, he was still just a guy with a bow. “And that’s all of the time I’m going to waste on you today.” 

Tony stood up to leave and the video clip ended, leaving Clint staring at a frozen image of Tony Stark storming off screen, which, while not too uncommon a sight, meant something to him that it normally didn’t. 

“Hey, you better not have watched the new episode without me, because if you did I’m going to have to – ” a familiar voice said, breaking Clint from his thoughts. 

He looked up at Tony, standing in the doorway with his customary bowl of chips and jar of salsa, as if this was just any other day, as if nothing had changed. Which, Clint realized, was actually kind of true. Nothing had changed. Tony was still going to be an asshole, although probably in different ways than before, and they’d still trade barbs while eating chips and watching Dog Cops. 

“You’re an idiot,” Clint said suddenly, still staring at Tony. 

“I believe the word you’re looking for is _genius_ , Birdbrain,” Tony shot back, and just like that, whatever tension there had been between them was broken. 

“No, I think I mean idiot,” Clint replied, a grin spreading across his face as he stood up and walked over to Tony, drawing him into a kiss.

Tony just about dropped his salsa.

**Author's Note:**

> _I do not give permission to have any of my works put up on goodreads or any other such site._


End file.
